


but i know some day i’ll make it out of here

by always_an_anxious_mess



Category: Minecraft - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Am i impulse posting this? Perhaps, Ghost Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Good Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Lonely TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit Has PTSD (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28847685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_an_anxious_mess/pseuds/always_an_anxious_mess
Summary: “It’s okay Toms,” Wilbur whispered. “It’s gonna be okay.”“It’s going to be hard.”“We’ll make it through. All of us.”———Title from Lovely by Billie Eilish and Khalid
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 328





	but i know some day i’ll make it out of here

**Author's Note:**

> **tw// alcohol**

“Tommy?”

Wilbur could only watch, growing horror in his veins as the crumpled heap on the ground slowly lifted its head and revealed itself to indeed be his missing little brother.

Tommy looked like absolute shit.

His hair was chin length, tangled in clumps, greasy, and stringy. There had clearly been no effort to wash or brush it in any way in quite a long time.

Tommy’s face was streaked with dirt and ash, something crusty on the edges of his lips that reflected in the low torchlight. His eyes were dull, a stormy gray instead of their once bright blue, and dark circles were present underneath them.

The teen’s cheeks were hollow, his lips cracked and bleeding. His skin was stretched so tightly over his skull that it gave him a gaunt, skeletal look. He was pale, far paler than he should be.

He was wearing Wilbur’s old coat, the one he donned in exile. It had the old L’manburg sown on the arm, but other than that, it wasn’t in much better condition than Tommy himself was. It was ripped in places, with mysterious stains littering the fabric that Wilbur remember not being there when he died.

The rest of his clothes were in a similar state. They seemed almost stiff from the stains, mysterious brown and red, with coal dust and dirt being some of the only identifiable sources of the discoloration.

All of these things sent worry through every inch of Wilbur’s newly resurrected body. He didn’t know what made him more concerned, the lack of emotion in Tommy’s eyes or the several presumably empty wine bottles that surrounded the boy.

“The fuck d’you want,” Tommy slurred, blinking slowly like a cat. His pupils were severely dilated from the low light, and from the effects of the alcohol.

“Fuck, Tommy,” Wilbur could practically hear the horror in his own voice.

“Oh you’re gonna be all judgy ‘nd shit,” Tommy groaned, his head lolling to the side as he glanced away from Wilbur. “I like it much better when ‘ou just tell me to off myself.”

“I— what?!”

“Yeah, you an’ your,” Tommy waved a vague hand at Wilbur lazily. “Your ‘allucination shit. Sometimes your judgy, and sometime you tell ‘e to off myself. I like the o’er version.”

_“You’re gonna have to sober him up.”_

Wilbur’s head jerked to the side involuntarily, mindlessly looking for the source of a voice he knew he wouldn’t find. He scowled slightly.

“I will say, those’re new,” Tommy slurred, eyes flicking lazily up to Wilbur’s head.

Wilbur touched one of his new horns absentmindedly, the bumps and ridges of the material foreign to his fingers.

_“Do I have to do it? The kid’s wasted. You’re not going to get anywhere with him like that.”_

“I’ll handle it,” Wilbur snapped, bristling. “He’s MY little brother, you know.”

_“Lot of good that did him. I’m just saying.”_

Wilbur ignored him, glancing down at Tommy once more and steeling himself. The boy was staring at him with a scrunched up nose, as if trying to figure out why Wilbur was talking to himself and not him.

“What do you suggest I do, all knowing one?” Wilbur spat sarcastically.

_“Dump some cold water on his head.”_

“We are looking at the same kid, aren’t we? He’ll fucking catch pneumonia!”

_“Get him dry clothes afterward, dumbass. And a towel. And make him drink a lot of water. Do it or I will, lover boy.”_

Wilbur sighed, frustration bleeding into it.

Tommy was still staring at him confused. The way his face was all scrunched up reminded Wilbur of the face Tommy would make as a kid when he was trying to figure something out. A bit of sorrow and homesickness flooded into his chest, and he sighed again, this time full of regret.

He knelt down and reached for the boy, who scooted back.

“The fuck you doin’?” Tommy demanded, but without the usual anger in his voice, the question sounded weak.

“Sobering you up,” Wilbur sighed, scooping the teen up underneath his arms and hauling him to his feet.

Tommy swayed dangerously, instinctively latching onto Wilbur’s sweater as he tried to balance. This made the bottle that had been clutched in one of his hands fall to the ground and shatter, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re not a ‘allucination,” Tommy mumbled with narrowed, confused eyes. “You not Ghostbur ei’er... am I dead?”

“Not yet,” Wilbur said firmly. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

Tommy was surprisingly and unsettlingly unresisting as Wilbur half-led, half-carried the boy to the other side of the ravine they were in, one of the two that made up Pogtopia. He was horrifyingly light.

Every time one of their feet hit a button on the ground, Wilbur flinched. Tommy didn’t seem to notice the clicking noises at all. He was barely helping Wilbur at all.

“Stay,” Wilbur commanded, leaning Tommy up against a wall.

The teen mumbled something incoherent, and the moment Wilbur released him, he slumped to the ground.

_“Oh, he’s not gonna move. He’s probably completely out of it.”_

“That’s not as comforting as you think it is.”

_“It wasn’t meant to be comforting.”_

Wilbur left Tommy on the ground, swiftly moving from room to room in Pogtopia, looking for a bucket or SOMETHING. He knew there was a river in one of the back caves he could grab water from, but he needed an actual bucket in order for that to work.

He found bottles first, and he kept those to give to Tommy so that way he could try and clear the liquor out of his system.

He finally found a bucket. It was dented and rusted but it worked. So he brought it over to the river, filled it up about halfway (also filling up the bottles), and lugged the bucket back to Tommy, promptly dumping the freezing cold water over his little brother’s head.

Tommy shrieked, high pitched and grating against Wilbur’s ears as he sat bolt upright.

“What the fuck?!” he demanded, spluttering and wiping the water off of his face. The water left streaks in the mess of dirt and coal dust and ash that littered the boy’s skin, which gave him the appearance of melting.

“Good, you’re sober,” Wilbur was alarmed to find that he was not the one speaking, and it was instead another voice coming out of his own mouth. He was also not in control of his own limbs, he was just... there.

“What the hell...” Tommy trailed off, staring up at them with wide gray eyes. “You— what?!”

“To make a long story short,” Schlatt hummed, shoving the bottles of water into Tommy’s hands. “Your bitch of a father tried reviving Wilbur, fucked it up, and brought both of us back in Wilbur’s body. I don’t want to be here either, I’ll have you know.”

_“SCHLATT I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD!”_ Wilbur shouted, finally snapping out of the shock of being forced out of control. Schlatt physically flinched. _“THAT IS MY LITTLE BROTHER! GIVE ME CONTROL!”_

“Well you aren’t exactly the best at the whole sobering him up thing!” Schlatt snapped back. “I have more experience in that division! Relax and stop trying to give me hearing damage!”

Tommy blinked up at the both of them, alarmed, before it was overtaken by cold anger. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving your life!” Wilbur thrust himself back into control, nearly falling over as he regained function of his limbs.

“I don’t need saving.”

“Like _hell!”_ Schlatt and Wilbur said at the same time, which was an strange experience for all three of them. It was odd for Tommy, hearing both Schlatt and Wilbur’s voice come out of the same mouth, and it was weird for the two older men, because they had never done that before.

“I don’t,” Tommy insisted.

“Don’t try and pull that shit,” Wilbur snapped. “I remember everything. I remember— fuck... Tommy I remember everything.”

Tommy eyed him warily as Wilbur sank to his knees in front of the boy, spreading his hands non threatening.

“I remember what Dream did to you,” Wilbur said softly, his voice trembling as Schlatt uncharacteristically went silent. “I remember what I did to you. I remember you trying to kill yourself, on multiple occasions. I remember— I remember everyone abandoning you. I remember not knowing any better and leaving you too. Fuck, Tommy, I’m so sorry.”

Tommy just stared, eyes wide and clearly untrusting.

“And I remember,” Wilbur heard his voice go bitter, he felt it, and he didn’t stop it. “I remember coming back, and only wanting to find you, to make sure you were safe. But those— those dickheads, they had the audacity to try and stop me! Stop me from making sure you were okay! I only got away now, I’ve been looking for you for hours.”

“Well you found me,” Tommy’s own voice went bitter as he shoved himself to his feet. “You can leave now.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Get out, Wilbur.”

“Tommy—”

“I SAID GET OUT!” Tommy roared, his voice raising but no anger rising up with it. It was... heartbreaking, seeing Tommy trying to act angry and dangerous to get Wilbur to leave.

“YOU’RE KILLING YOURSELF!” Wilbur shouted right back, desperation leaking into his voice and tears pricking in your eyes. “I’m— I’m not gonna let you kill yourself, Tommy.”

The teen paused, staring at him wide eyed and trembling (whether from being soaking wet, or from fear, Wilbur didn’t know). He was clearly considering this information.

“I’m just so tired, Wilby,” Tommy mumbled, and Wilbur felt his heart break.

“I know, I know,” Wilbur murmured, standing up slowly and reaching his arms out, not initiating anything in case Tommy changed his mind.

This proved to be pointless, as the teen practically threw himself into Wilbur’s arms.

Wilbur’s breath stuttered slightly, and he had to take a step back in order to keep from falling over, but he didn’t dare let go.

Tommy buried his face into the older’s chest, and Wilbur put his chin on top of the teen’s head, breathing through his mouth to avoid the smell that rose from Tommy’s clothes. The teen was sobbing, tears soaking through Wilbur’s sweater, but he didn’t mind.

“It’s okay Toms,” Wilbur whispered. “It’s gonna be okay.”

_“It’s going to be hard.”_

“We’ll make it through. All of us.”

Wilbur didn’t specify who those words were directed to. He didn’t need to.

It was meant for both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: @Rose12610  
> Tumblr: @alwaysananxiousmess
> 
> This takes place in a universe where instead of Tubbo and Tommy making up before Doomsday, they just agreed to help each other save L’manburg. With L’manburg destroyed, Tommy had nowhere to go, and he’s been in Pogtopia for several weeks. Might continue this, might not. Idk at this point.


End file.
